Regret Unknown
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: The burning question on the tongues of all of Thedas seems to be why any man would willingly give up being king of anything. Alistair can write an entire book of reasons, but the top of that list will always be one man.


**Regret Unknown**

**A Word**: Kink meme request for Warden Alistair following M!Warden to Vigil keep.

Also, if you follow any of my other fics I must apologize. I will be starting over again with most of them. All of them really. I've had an epic hard drive crash and everything in it is gone. I am currently mourning the loss and trying to work out some kind of demonic deal to see if anything at all can be salvaged from it. It's not looking all that good right now.

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"Don't you regret it?" Anders asks somewhere between Amaranthine and the last known sighting of the supply ship that'd wrecked. An idle question because the mage doesn't even give Alistair time to open his mouth before he's off again.

His babbling is even worse than anything Alistair has ever managed on his own even during his most embarrassing and back pedaling awkwardness days. The years when he was just starting to learn all the fun things a growing man could do with his own hands, a bit of spit, and nothing more than a few minutes of being alone in a dark Chantry corner. Regular hotbed of sin those dark Chantry corners. He'd know because he wasn't always quick enough to occupy it first.

Alistair might have asked 'regret what' but he's already letting Anders' words slide right off him. It's a thing the mage does. When they're getting close to danger or when the air grows too quiet and they've all learned to just let him go at it to feel comfortable. Mostly. Alistair's sure he can feel the pointed glare from ahead that is Howe somehow making the world break so he can glare back without turning his head. Impressive and slightly creepy.

Alistair doesn't actually need to ask for clarification of the point that's long since faded into nothingness for the rest of the group though. He's pretty sure he already knows because that question -or some form of it- has been thrown his way almost daily since the last Landsmeet was called. Since he stood in front of the eyes of every -living- important person in the country and willingly ceded his rule to Anora.

The great rule of King Alistair the First. Begun with the ritual slaughtering of a King Slayer, and lasted all of two weeks when it was ended with the not so ritual slaying of an Archdemon. An exciting rule, yes, but still probably the shortest reign in the history of Ferelden. That wasn't aided by secret assassination attempts.

He's become used to the questions. Used to the baffled looks the arls and landowners send his way when they assemble in Vigil Keep. Does he regret giving the throne up? Does he regret turning all that power over to Anora? Does he regret forswearing any claim his bloodline might have had for it?

Alistair looks ahead and catches the flickering of lightning from a rune along the hilt of a longsword strapped to a back that he's not seen bend or slouch even once.

Not from the day Duncan had brought in the last recruit to Ostagar. A tired looking young noble who hadn't scoffed or turned his nose up when Alistair nearly tripped over his tongue talking to the man with pretty eyes that were almost too sad to bear. A man who had just smiled patiently and listened to everything he said, because that's just the type of man he is.

Weight of the entire world on his shoulders and Aedan'll take an hour out of his day to crouch down next to a shy little girl just to hear her prattle off about all of her problems. And _then_ he'll take four more out to fix every single one of them, take a brief breather to slaughter an army or two of Darkspawn, and then get back to let her know it's all fixed. Breaking rules and centuries of custom all along the way, but living up to the ideal of Gray Warden that everyone in the world has regardless. That ideal had been everything to Alistair long ago as a child, and he's glad to be part of it. Glad that he hadn't forsaken his role for something no Gray Warden should ever have for longer than what was necessary.

Alistair had the decision half made to abdicate in Anora's favor even before _that_ night came. The night when they learned the true cost of slaying the Archdemon, and the alternative that Morrigan had offered.

The terrifying alternative that they couldn't truly turn down. That _Alistair_ couldn't turn down, though the thought of touching the witch had his bits trying their best to crawl back into his body out of horror. It'd been Aedan, who had volunteered in the end. Even with his preference being decidedly _not_ female, he'd been more willing than Alistair. For all the good it had done them.

He still remembers the annoyed twist of Morrigan's lips when she came to his rooms not an hour later and dragged him out with an iron grip. The humiliated burn of light in her eyes when she was forced to admit that there were some things that even she could not overcome. Both are things that live on in Alistair's mind as a treasured memory. Among other memories from that night.

Like the way the blindfold had looked against Aedan's skin, the way his muscles had jumped under Alistair's rough touch, and his back molded to Alistair's chest as he settled over the man. The echoing vibration of moans that had been loud enough to block out the sounds Morrigan made as Alistair buried his face in the other man's neck. Teeth catching in flesh as he tried desperately not to finish too soon. Not to spill even as he felt the tight heat of a man's arse clenching down on him, unbelievably tight and sweet around his cock. The salt of another man's skin not so strange on Alistair's tongue after all when it could bring so much pleasure.

Alistair licks the back of his teeth. The remembered taste feels distant and vague for all that it was not even a few months ago. It brings his mind back to the other half of the reason why he decided to decline the crown.

They never spoke of it. Too busy with not dying and all, but even now they don't speak of it. Of that night and what it could mean beyond their lives being spared. Of the name Aedan had moaned at the end. Shaken and more questioning than certain, and maybe a touch of hope that's lingered in Alistair's mind. Of the way Alistair finds his eyes following Aedan's every move for something more than a battle order. They don't speak of that fumbled mess of flirting Aedan had started in Lothering and Alistair had recoiled from so long ago.

They don't speak of much these days actually, and Alistair knows that he shares equal blame for that. Knows that it's a lingering fear of embarrassment that will only get worse until he goes through with it. Stumbles over every word he thinks he'll stumble over, trip over air, and say every absolutely wrong thing possible until he can't possibly embarrass himself any more. Because that's what Alistair does with his life, and then someone will laugh. Hopefully, it will be a charmed laugh and not one that's mocking. Or pitying.

The laugh he does hear is immediate and amused. He'll take it though. "You're falling behind. What are you thinking?"

"Uh," he is falling behind. Way behind. The rest of the party is almost out of view ahead and they must be getting close to one of the hundred 'perfect' camping spots Howe seems to know. "Lamp posts mostly."

"Ah," Aedan coughs and Alistair's sure he doesn't imagine the falter in the man's steps. His lips thin and he seems to gather himself. As reluctant as Alistair to breach the one topic they need to speak of before anything else. "I was under the impression you had nothing to do with posts. Lamp or not."

"So was I," Alistair says and doesn't try to fix the analogy that's still pretty horrible even now. "I blame the Chantry."

"Shocking," Aedan says with a wry twist of his mouth that has the potential to derail this conversation fast, because Alistair can go on about the Chantry for weeks. He could probably give Anders and his templar thing a good bit of competition, and now Alistair's seriously thinking about actually doing that. Damn his mind.

"Yes, yes, but we've gone over how much I just adored my time there. Old tracks," Alistair waves grandly to push that topic aside for the moment. "What I was _specifically_ blaming them for is. Well, a bit more complicated, and I haven't even got the words to say it to myself yet so don't laugh if I end up with one foot in my own mouth."

"Oh, no, I'll wait until you have both in there to laugh," Aedan says lightly with a slow softening to his smile that Alistair is happy to see. The man's smiles have been too sharp lately.

"So generous!" Alistair stops walking to sketch an overly showy bow he'd learned from one of the Orlesian Wardens. He's sure he messes it up, but it's still far more elaborate than any such gesture should be. It gets an honest laugh out of Aedan and Alistair feels some of the fear that's kept him silent loosening as he remembers how easy it is to allow himself to mess up around the other man. "So, lamp posts. Truth is I can't really say anything about them or their opposite really.

"Most people don't need experience to know they have a preference though," Aedan says, and his humor is gone. His voice is gentle, but he's wearing the face he uses when he's trying to pretend he's completely impartial to the conversation taking place. "You were fairly certain, ah, lamp posts weren't yours."

"Yes, I was, and like I said, I blame the Chantry for that. Hard to know if you actually have a preferences for lamp posts if you didn't even realize preferring them was possible," Alistair frowns and huffs out a breath that's as much laughter as embarrassment as he feels heat start to crawl up the back of his neck. "And now I sound like a deranged lunatic out to get lamp posts or something. Can we just forget I ever used that analogy at all?"

"I thought it was rather," Aedan stops walking, the rest of the group is well out of sight now, "cute actually."

"Well, I can't argue with a glowing description like that," Alistair stops as well and folds his arms across his chest. Aedan shifts a bit but meets his gaze with that same mask that he uses to deal with anything vaguely diplomatic. The kind of situations where the wrong twitch of an eye will send everything spiraling out of control, but the man seems to excel at defusing anyway. "Cute doesn't quite cover the fact I hadn't thought of being with a man in any way until I met you. That I didn't even know it was possible to want anyone that wasn't a woman."

He flinches as soon as the words leave his mouth. They sound a lot cruder and baser than anything he's wanted to say. Makes it sound like this, what is between them, is simple lust. It's not. Maker knows it's not, but he doesn't get another word out to try and fix it before Aedan does.

"Are you saying that you would want that now? That one night," and Alistair hears the way the man's voice wavers over that even though his mask doesn't shift at all, "is enough to change your mind?"

"Well, it's not saying much, but I did give up the chance to rule an entire kingdom for the sole purpose of following behind you," Alistair answers and his words hit him a few seconds after he's said them. He can almost hear Zevran laughing as the flush that's been threatening spills across his cheeks. "Uh, not that I meant that in the way it sounded! I just-"

Aedan _laughs_. Loud and fully like he hasn't since before the Landsmeet. The laugh that crinkles the skin around his eyes and leaves his face a little flushed, and Alistair is as charmed by it as ever. Another point in his argument that he'll probably forget to bring up later.

"I'd say I'd like to do this properly, but I don't know what that would be," Alistair reaches out and Aedan moves agreeably at his slight tug. "Plus, I think we're past even the semblance of being _proper_ anything now."

"I won't tell if you won't," Aedan says with a grin that means he's lying through his teeth, and Alistair doesn't get a chance to respond to that. Not unless he wants to give up the warm press of lips against his own, or miss the sly flick of a tongue that's haunted his dreams for months longer than he was ever willing to admit.

Alistair gave up being a king for this. Does he regret it?

Not one bit.

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End file.
